Demented
by The Viceroy of Kush
Summary: If there was one thing that Dementors hated, it was humans who got a way. It would find her, and it would claim what rightly belonged to it – and, maybe, a bit more. Perhaps, Tom Riddle Junior is not entirely to blame for the way he turned out. Darkfic.


**Disclaimer**: All of the usual business applies – nothing you recognise belongs to me, and are instead the property of J.K. Rowling, her publishers, and other affiliates. I'm not trying to make any money or other profit from this, I'm just having fun in one of my favourite fandoms.

(**Author's Note**: As much as I would like to claim the brilliance behind this theory and its consequences, I can't. This fic was inspired by an essay from the Red Hen, which can be found on her website – a direct link to the said essay is in my profile. Anything written by her is worth a read and consideration, even those theories that were completely hosed by DHs. If anything, they are an excellent breeding ground for AUs and what ifs, such as this.

So, here's to one of her many theories on the wizard formerly known as Tom Riddle! Let's hope I do justice by it…)

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I. July 1925, Little Hangleton

"Right, men. The blasted creatures will be here any moment, so shields up and strengthened, and be on your guard constantly. Your wands should be at the ready every moment we are in their presence, and should not be lowered for any reason at all. These are loathsome, vile creatures whose courtesies extent only as far as they allow, and they will not hesitate to divest you of the one thing they crave above all – your soul."

Sergius Scrimgeour looked at the quintet of Aurors that stood before him, their deep scarlet robes absorbing the brilliant sunlight like cloth would water. Though such routine, mundane things such as arrests were usually left to the lower ranks of the Corps, as Head Auror, Scrimgeour felt that it was his duty to partake in this particular one. It was not every day that Dementors were brought along as back-up, and given that he had more experience with the nasty buggers, he wanted to be there with his men to guide them through this process. Having Dementors along as back-up could be quite the traumatising experience, and though this group were amongst the most seasoned Aurors, the last thing he wanted was for one of them to fall prey to the creatures' powers, and find himself down one soul.

Tensely, he looked around the village square, which resembled any other village square in Muggle Britain.

There were only a few Muggles out and about at the moment, which was something that Scrimgeour found himself both weary and thankful of. The less Muggles, the better, given that while the Muggles couldn't see Dementors, they could certainly feel the creature's presence, and a widespread panic would most certainly erupt over the unexplained symptoms they would fall victim to with the Dementors' arrival. They would already have enough on their hands attempting to arrest that violent drunkard, Marvolo Gaunt, and his unstable son. The last thing they needed – or wanted, honestly – would be to have to call in a team of Obliviators to erase the memory of unseen Dementor exposure.

Scrimgeour found himself wanting to yell out at the Muggles to return to their homes until further notice, to remain inside and not to come back out until the sun did, but it would be of no use. For one thing, he and his men were under Disillusion Charms, and for another, the Muggles would want an explanation. Explaining to a Muggle was the one thing that had kept Scrimgeour from taking that offered position in the Muggle Relations Department. A tiresome, frustrating job it must be, to attempt to abide by the Statue of Secrecy while at the same time explaining what had gone on or was going because of the Wizarding world.

At any rate, though, his warning would not be needed. As soon as the Dementors arrived, the brilliant, sweltering summer day would begin to cloud over with thunderous storm clouds and a bone-touching chill would fall over the area. There might even be a bit of rain, depending on how long it had been since the Dementors had last Fed. The sudden, unexplained shift in weather would be enough to rush the Muggles into the relative safety of their homes, and away from the potential ordeal they might face in the presence of Dementors…

As if on cue, an abrupt and powerful wind blasted through the village, startling the Muggles who were around and causing Scrimgeour and his Aurors to begin reinforcing their Occlumency shields. Occlumency would not fully combat the torturous effects of the miserable fiends, but it would keep all of them lucid enough to continue to do their jobs. The wind picked up in ferocity and strength, bringing with it a chill that overpowered the oppressive heat, and a brooding blanket of tumultuous grey storm clouds. Scrimgeour glanced around, and was pleased to see that indeed, the sudden shift in weather was enough to make the Muggles begin making themselves scarce. By the time their breaths began misting icily in the air around them, there wasn't a Muggle in sight, and Scrimgeour had one less thing to worry about as he turned to face the three ghastly figures descending from within the frenzied clouds.

The terror and horrid memories bubbled just below the surface of his iron-clad shields, but Scrimgeour forced them to stay there. A quick glance at the rest of his men confirmed that they were doing the same, even if they were having varying levels of difficulties in this task.

"Right then, creatures," said Scrimgeour, gruffly, past the lump that was forming in his throat at the faint, distant screaming echoing in his mind. "I don't want any funny business out of you two, today. You're here for a purpose, and under Ministry control, and that means that you don't act without my consent or command. Do you understand, creatures?"

Three deep, rattling breaths, each spaced barely a heartbeat apart, were the only answers he got. With a shaky nod, Scrimgeour jerked his head roughly at his men, and set off in a northerly direction, towards the lane that lead to the entrance of a village. The Dementors followed, on their own hungered volition.

With each jerky step Scrimgeour took up the wide lane, which was growing into a rather steep incline, he put all of his energies into continuously reinforcing his trembling shields. They were quite nearly at the Gaunt hovel, and from what Odgen had reported – both on and off the record – Marvolo Gaunt lived in poverty with his son and daughter, the rundown cottage practically reeking of misery and discontent. Once there, Scrimgeour was certain, the Dementors would largely shift their attentions to the degenerate family of three, and their effects upon him and his Aurors would be lessened, perhaps even diminished to nothing but an uncomfortable brush against their mental shields. All they had to do was get to the Gaunt cottage, and he would be more or less free of the increasingly troubled, much-less-distant-and-faint screams that were scraping his insides raw with familiarity.

Coming near the top of the incline, Scrimgeour turned down a narrow lane to his left. He was glad that he had been astute enough to visit the village first, if not the exact place of the Gaunt cottage, for he would have certainly missed the lane entirely, it was almost completely obscured by a thick growth of hedges. The last position he wanted to be in or put his men in was that of being at lost for direction with Dementors trailing behind them. The lane became a narrow dirt track that boasted of monstrously wild hedgerows, which were nothing like the ones out on the main lane, and inexplicably, Scrimgeour remembered a lesson from his sixth-year Herbology course.

"Mind the hedges, men," he said, gruffly. "Wouldn't put it past Gaunt to have planted Changeling Hedges to ward off the Muggles. In fact, the bastard would probably think it funny to see a Muggle or two suffocated by a hedge for trying to get onto his property…"

The Aurors silently fell into a single file line behind their superior; Scrimgeour, it seemed, was the only one who still had any energies to spare for speech. A few moments after beginning its downward incline, the pockmarked, uneven trail levelled out onto a shorter length of pathway, and Scrimgeour suddenly found that the trail rather abruptly ended in the thicket of shadowed trees he had spotted from the top of the incline. Cautiously, Scrimgeour stepped into the copse, and was thoroughly dismayed to see that in conjunction with the Dementor-induced clouds and the tall shadows the old trees threw over the clearing, the amount of visibility was what one would get around dusk. Nothing indicated that it was a little past noon, on a cloudless, sunny summer day.

"Wonderful," Gareth Robards seemed to choke out. Scrimgeour glanced back slightly, to see one of his best paler than snow and almost drenched in a cold sweat. "We've been lead deep into the woods, to a rundown cottage containing a madman and his inbred children, in the midst of a Dementor-induced storm, and in the company of said Dementors. How much bloody worse could this get?"

Almost mockingly, it began to drizzle.

Scrimgeour decided that if any of them wanted to get out of here alive – let alone with their tasks achieved and the suspects apprehended – that no more time should be wasted. His most powerful effort yet went into reinforcing his shields, though, as he suspected, in the vicinity of the Gaunt hovel, the Dementors' attentions had been captured by far more satisfying quarry, and he turned to his men – and, reluctantly, to the Dementors.

"Right, then. Robarbs, Savage – the pair of you secure the back of the house to ensure they don't escape that way. Laughlin, you secure the premises against Apparition, Portkey, or Floo. And, Potter, you act as my back-up. Understood?" The Aurors nodded, and scattered to do their work. Scrimgeour looked over their heads at the floating abominations, and instructed, in a rather constricted voice, "Creatures, you will remain at this point until future instruction, and are ordered not to move without my explicit say-so. Have you understood?"

Again, three rattling breaths were drawn, almost in-sync, and Scrimgeour's shield trembled violently. Laughlin actually fell to her knees, a tremulous half-sob escaping her lips, and an expression of complete misery contorting her long face as she looked upon something only she could see.

"Let's hurry, Potter. On my count. One, two, three…"

Scrimgeour paused for the briefest of seconds to spare at glance at his stricken comrade, and then nodded at Charlus Potter, who was at the ready.

"MARVOLO GAUNT, MORFIN GAUNT, AS OFFICIALS OF THE MINISTRY AND OFFICIERS OF THE CORPS, WE DEMAND YOU GRANT US ENTRANCE TO YOUR HOME!"

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_The weather could not have been worse as the standoff between the man-humans began taking place. The clouds thrashed and tumbled against each other in the sky, brilliant lightening began to fork from the sky, the thunder was deafening as it crashed around in its tumultuous blanket of clouds, sheet upon sheet of icy needles of rain poured from the sky, bits of hail began rushing from the sky like bats unleashed from hell, puddles began icing over as soon as they were made – _

_And, the Dementors could not have been more comfortable or excited if they tried. With a restless need, they hovered above the sobbing she-human and greedily began Feeding from her essence. The man-human had said they couldn't move – he had never said they couldn't Feed._

_Emotions from all over – not just from the she-human – were practically oozing around them, seeping from their sightless surroundings like sludge between the cracks of a sewer. And, without abandon, they lapped at it, relishing its taste, devouring the fear, the anger, the sorrow, the guilt, the pain, the terror – _

_It was like a decadent feast, a feast that filled them with nourishment and pleasure – _

_But, a feast that was fated to end too soon._

"_Creatures!" roared the man-human, the one who he thought they obeyed. "Creatures, apprehend them at once, take them into custody!"_

_With a rush that would have been called eagerness had they been humans, two of them swept forward in a cloud of chill and misery, and each took hold to the designated man-humans. The physical touch was more pleasurable than could be described. Each of the man-humans – so filled with emotions and memories to which could be endlessly Fed off of – ceased their violent struggling, and sagged in their grips. The mere presence of them was plenty to endure, but their touch was an interaction which only the strongest of minds could resist – and even then, rarely._

"_Do not Kiss them! You are under strict orders not to Kiss anyone on the premises!" hollered the commanding man-human, over the shriek and howls of the wind, as well as the chaos of the sky. "Take them directly to the Ministry, and then return back to your island!"_

_Gladly, the two took their quarry, leading them away from the other humans with an almost predatory slowness. The remaining one hovered in wait, sightlessly taking what could be called afters – the emotions that had followed the sudden flurry of activity and interaction. But, it was a most unsatisfactory Feed. There was nothing left but panic, fear, discomfort…petty emotions, tasteless emotions by now. This one craved something fresh, something more appetising than the stale tastes that it savoured each time it ventured around humans…_

_Reaching out, it tasted the air for a hint of something new, something far more delectable and tasteful than the current humans were providing…_

_Reaching out a bit more, it got closer to the scent, so close – _

_The urge that came with Feeding was overwhelming as it hit upon the newest scent within the vicinity. It surged forward, blindly following the trail of emotions and feelings, his contorted mouth already dislocating itself in order to properly administer a Kiss – _

"_CREATURE! STOP! I COMMAND – "_

_It was nearly there, the taste was nearly in its mouth, filling him with that all too pleasurable nourishment, when – _

_A burning sensation that it knew all too well encompassed its entire being, cloaking it in simmering light, reducing its senses to a dulled, impaired shadow of itself, and driving him away from the trail that was so potent and virile it could be touched. It desperately wanted to find the trail again, to be in such close proximity again, to be able to devour that soul that was so full of sorrow, pain, guilt, hopelessness…_

"_You were under strict orders not to move, creature!" roared the commanding man-human. "You are in strict violation of the Ministry regulations upon your kind – "_

_A deep, rattling, vengeful breath was all it took to cut off that pointless tirade. The man-human seemed be deeply shaken by that mere touch, and the defences around his mind were reduced to mere tatters. Vengeance for its lost quarry swelled within it, and it began dislocating its jaw again, until – _

"_I banish you, creature, to your island! Leave at once, and return to your island!" a different man-human commanded. _

_And, with the command was magic – not issued from the man-human himself, but invoked by the words that bound the treaty that had long ago been made between their kind and the feckless humans. It could not remain, even though it desperately wanted to. In a way that could have been interpreted as spite, had it been human, it sucked in its most intense breath yet – and reduced all the humans to quivering masses that radiated unstable emotions and had no mental shields to speak of any longer._

_The magic rite pulled at it, forcefully drawing its presence away from the area, the humans, and that achingly delectable soul. The rain slacked off to a mere mist, the thunder tumbled to the barest murmur, the lightening was nothing more than a flicker of light, the hail and puddles melted where they lay, the chill gave into the natural heat of the season, and the blanket of clouds closed in on it, forming a cocoon of sorts, and drawing it back to its home. _

_However, despite the distance that was now placed between it and the treasured soul, it never forgot what it tasted like for a second. The craving never left, the urge never ceased, the ache never dulled. _

_It remembered and lingered on the taste for weeks, imagining what intense pleasure would come from devouring the human's broken soul, until it was granted an opportunity to slip away in search of it again. It nearly caused a tornado in anticipation of the treat that would be gained from its Kiss, and following the scent from the spot it had originally come to, it thought that the pleasure would surely erupt within it in excitement for what was to come._

_Yet, when it arrived at the spot wherein it had first had the lingering taste…_

_There was nothing there but the taste. No human – a she-human, it could now tell, since it was closer enough to discern – resided in the area wherein the scent was strongest, and therefore, no soul resided wherein the scent lingered. All that was left was the taste, the scent, the promise of a soul to be devoured – but, not the actual treasure._

_A sensation that would be described as fury in a human simmered within the creature. It had put off Feeding in anticipation for this Kiss! It had deprived itself of the pleasure so richly afforded to it, for it was saving everything for that one moment where the human would be Kissed and its soul devoured! Lightening burst through the clouds to strike powerfully at the one point where the scent was strongest. _

_The human had gotten away._

_And, if there was one thing that Dementors hated more than the burn of a Patronus and being commanding by weak, vulnerable humans, it was the humans that got away._

_The Dementor wanted the she-human's soul, and the she-human's soul it would get. _

_Even if it had to search through millions of humans to find her._

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(**Author's Note**: And, thus concludes part one. This was originally intended to be a rather lengthy one-shot, but I saw no reason why I couldn't break it up into actual chapters, and make it a little ficlet. At the most, this fic shouldn't be longer than ten chapters, maybe twelve.

Please, drop me a review and let me know what you thought, and if you think this is worth continuing.)


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